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And when I smiled, ‘Bing!’ I almost blinded her.
She said, ‘Great Scot, are you a thief?
Seems like you have a mouth full of gold teeth!’
Hahahaha, had to find that funny,
So I said, ‘No child, I work hard for the money.
And calling me a thief? Please…don’t even try it,
Sit down, eat your slice of pizza, and be quiet.’
I’m outspoken; my language is broken into a slang,
But it’s just a dialect that I select when I hang.
Having that gang war?
We want to know what you’re fighting for.
Fighting over colors?
All that gang shit’s for dumb motherfuckers.
But you go on thinking you’re hard…
Come to New York and we’ll see who gets robbed.
Take your jheri curls, take your black hats,
Take your wack lyrics and your bullshit tracks.
Now you’re mad and you’re thinking about stomping?
Well I’m from the South Bronx…Fuck Compton.
Now who in the world do you want to fight?
It’s against the system, we should unite.
Homophobics ain’t alright;
If you learn to love, then you might love life.
Another day, another burial,
Got you wondering ’bout the day when they bury you.
Tear drops stain the Wally’s that you rockin’,
On the block, candles burn, guns poppin’.
Never was hot, never was Pop,
But I never, ever stopped that real Hip Hop.
Got no paparazzi, got no company that got me;
Walking alone in the ‘hood, so it’s easy to spot me.
Microphone checka, swingin’ sword lecture,
Closin’ down the sector, supreme neck protector.
Better warn ‘em kid…Mr. Meth’s a boiling pot
About to blow his lid from the pressure.
Whoever underestimated, still waited,
Pumping the radio, finally they played it.
You wondered how come the album was late?
I was giving you time to get the last one straight.
You tremble for my treble,
You’re begging for the bass.
The voice is too vicious,
The same as the pace.
Now hear this mixture: where Hip Hop meets scripture,
Develop a negative into a positive picture.
I rub your face off the Earth and curse your family children,
Like Amityville; I drill the nerves in your cavity filling.
Insanity’s building a pavilion in my civilian
The cannon be the anarchy that humanity’s dealin’.
A villain without remorse who’s willing to out your boss
Forever…and take all the cheddar like child support.
Life’s a bitch and then you die.
That’s why we get high,
Cause you never know when you’re gonna go.
You good one minute, psycho the next,
No longer lettin’ it ride…too much Jekyll and Hyde.
Then you subtweet some weeks, busy settin’ your pride.
I’m grown, don’t really need that sort of mess in my life.
It’s the message in the song that makes you rock on,
Some people go to places where they don’t belong.
Whether wrong or right, a lot of people fight,
But I’m here to bless this mic, aight?
In my heart, though, I do believe:
If you put out more love than you receive,
It’s bound to come back around, eventually.
I bake your ass like a cake and all y’all flakes get frosted.
Me? I got no jewels on my neck.
Why? I don’t need ‘em, I got your respect.
No sheep clothing,
I wear wolf;
Howl at the moon.
Cool…cause I don’t get upset,
I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet.
Before I lay my head down to rest,
I roll up a nickel sack of cess to relieve the stress.
Brothers ain’t shit,
So don’t honk your horn, keep rolling.
No, I don’t wanna ride cause the shit might be stolen.
Anyway, I know your number:
You got a ‘Gas, Grass or Ass’ sticker on your bumper.
Platinum don’t mean shit
When you’re perpetrating someone else’s life,
And they life ain’t legit.
You know how it go when you got no dough:
Niggas goin out to party and you got no clothes.
And when you do get clothes, then you can’t go out
That’s the bullshit I’m talkin’ about.
Nah baby, I’m not gonna be able to do it,
I tried to take you serious before, and you blew it.
You figured you was slick, dissin me for the next man,
But when you heard he had a wife, it ruined your plans.
Now you wanna come back and act like it’s all that?
But I ain’t tryin to hear it, cause you sound real wack.
You got it over the first time, but that was the last time;
I’ll never make the same mistake again in a lifetime.
You won’t get a harvest if you don’t sow seeds,
Ill-gained wealth brings stress from dirty deeds.
The choices that you make will fulfill your needs,
But the shit you go through will be hard to believe.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Dutch in my ear, Olde E in my palm,
I Freddy Krueger your face, Michael Myers your moms.
You botherin mine? That’s when I’m sparkin the nine.
You can tell by the rhyme it’s my time to shine;
Let’s eat, motherfucker, I don’t dine on swine.
I don’t beef with turkeys, I told you the God’ll fold you,
Hard to digest: I suggest that you take tofu.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
I don’t like thugs, I don’t like nerds,
I don’t like myself and I hate bein’ disturbed.
Ayo, the arm bone connected to the hand bone,
Nigga, the hand bone connected to the damn chrome!
Ain’t no tellin’ what I’d do for a dollar…
I’m not your father, but guess what I’mma do to ya mama.
Niggas’ rap albums sound like love letters,
Pen in my hand, like: damn, fam, I could do much better.
Gangsta rappers can’t fight, so they rap about guns.
Let me break it down for you again,
You know I only say it because I’m truly genuine:
Don’t be a hard rock when you really are a gem.
They say the taste of revenge is sweet.
Well, let me see…
Prepare the table for a feast, take a seat, now let’s eat.
The way mothers feel for they sons, how fathers feel for they daughters;
When he date, he straight, chip off his own papa.
When she date, we wait behind the door with the sawed off,
Cause we think no one is good enough for our daughters.
My style is strong like hard lumber;
Cute chicks get the dick,
Ugly bitches get the wrong number.
Don’t mourn me when I’m gone, celebrate my travels;
Whenever you need me, just take a plane to the astral zones.
You tried keeping it real, but you should try keeping it right.
I give you life decoded,
Nicely quoted.
A simple right or left
Can mean life or death.
Epic fail, or nice success,
Days of pleasure…nights of stress.
A friend with weed is a friend indeed,
Word to the stem, word to the seed.
Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit,
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it.
Honeys shake your hips, you don’t stop,
And niggas pack the clips, keep on…
Now Joe wanna be like Bob,
Bob got it goin’ on with no job.
And everything Rob got he got from Robin,
And everything she got, she got ho-hoppin’.
My girl Jilly wanna be like Jackie,
Fat rope chains and I think that’s wick-wacky.
Tom and Dick wanna be like Harry,
Little do they know he’s bitin’ on Barry…
There’s four developing stages in the art of hip-hop,
And most of them developed from the snap, crackle and pop.
The first was the usage of an actual band,
The second was a drum machine made by a man,
The third was the human beatbox and percussion,
The fourth in line was samplin’ and the book of rhyme bustin’.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Been tested, ain’t fail: I’m tried and true.
When it’s all falling apart, my pride’s the glue.
I felt at times worthless…
Pulled shifts with shifty crime merchants,
Stained hearts, brainwashed by mind serpents.
The fact I’m still here, it’s clear it’s divine purpose.
Attention! Follow directions real close:
Keep out of reach of children, beware of overdose.
Too many milligram, but what made a iller jam?
My rhyme is the rhythm of thoughts that kill a man.
Ideas for the ear to fear, might split ‘em;
He’ll never forget ’em…he’ll rest in peace wit ’em.
At least when he left he’ll know what hit ’em:
The last breath of the words of death was ‘The Rhythm.’
I ain’t the captain of the yacht, but I’m on the boat;
I ain’t acting what I’m not, knowing that I don’t.
You niggaz acting like you will, but I know you won’t.
Man, I read between the lines of the eyes of your brows,
Your handshake ain’t matchin your smile…